


Preliminary Cohabitation

by FeoplePeel



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Found Family, Great Depression, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: He shouldn't have been shocked to see Albert Johnson on his doorstep. Like the crash, and anything with regards to Miss Fisher, there had been signs.And Jack was supposed to be, first and foremost, a detective.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deathgetsusall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathgetsusall/gifts).



Jack woke to the smell of toast. He checked that he was still in his own bed, staring at his own, wood ceiling, before inching out from under the covers. It wasn’t an unexpected confusion; he hadn’t smelled food in his house upon waking for…

Well, it had been a while. 

“I didn’t know you could cook.” 

Bert turned down a corner of the newspaper obscuring most of his face. “I’m not sure if burnt bread counts as cooking.” 

Jack had to agree with him, and he was sure Bert was thinking of the more elegant spreads Mr. Butler had laid out most mornings. But the economic downturn had put an end to those, as it had to most things. They could afford bread at least. 

“Interesting things in the paper.” 

Jack sat across from him and took up a piece of toast with a noncommittal noise. He had learned early in his...acquaintanceship with Cec and Bert not to dig too deeply into what sort of interests the men had. 

“Crimes, please,” 

“Do you ever turn off, Inspector?” 

“Afraid not, Mr Johnson.” 

Bert huffed and handed him two of the thin, crisp sheets anyway. “You and Miss Fisher are a pair.” 

Rosie had issued similar complaints at the breakfast table when his work had overtaken their marriage. Instead of the residual guilt he expected to feel, he felt a tug of amusement at the idea of Miss Fisher fighting him for her share of the Crimes section. 

Jack lowered the paper and raised his brow. “Thank you.” 

* * *

 To say the stock market crash was sudden would be a lie. There were signs, especially for a detective...even one who spent as extravagantly as Miss Fisher. 

Still, walking into the house that had been hers for all the years he had known her, watching her pack what hadn’t been given to shelters or sent to her aunt, filled him with the kind of numbness that set in after a great shock. Regardless of how short a time she had lived here or how long and well she had lived elsewhere, to Jack it felt wrong. 

She was saying something, and he was staring at the corner where her changing screen used to stand.

“I have a guest room should you require lodgings.” Jack caught himself almost immediately and was proud at the evenness of his voice. “ _Temporary_ lodgings.”

He hadn't often had the privilege of stunning Miss Fisher to silence, but she stood before him now, eyes dipping down in a slow blink before her smile widened to match.

“You haven’t been paying attention to anything I said, have you?”

“I’m afraid I’m a little…,” he trailed off with a shrug.

She turned and closed the lid of her trunk with a solid click. When she turned back, her expression was fond. “Thank you, Jack.”

He didn’t remember walking back out to his car, but he spent the rest of the evening in solid disbelief he had managed to ask Phryne Fisher to share a space with him and equally dizzy excitement that she had agreed.

The next morning he woke, looked around the flat he’d shared with only himself since Rosie, and resolved to spend the next few days preparing, _not_ thinking of the myriad of ways everything could go wrong.

(that he spent a week worrying anyway was between him and the wood ceiling)

* * *

“Any plans for today?” Jack asked, out of politeness before anything else.

“Been out by the wharf already,” Bert said, and Jack noticed, then, the dampness at the heels of his trousers. He wondered if Phryne would have noticed them sooner. “Didn’t make it in time for the early shifts, but they’ll have something later today. Assuming Miss Fisher doesn’t need anything.”

Jack knew what that meant, and he stared at Bert for a long moment. There were gaps in that story, he was sure of it. But, like the _interesting_ things Bert found in the paper, he didn’t press. He finished his toast and grabbed his hat, only speaking when he reached the door. “There should be an odd job or two at the station. I think Mrs Collins could use a break.”

“Too much time around police folk. I understand what that’s like.” Bert’s face didn’t precisely _light_ _up_ at the word ‘station’, but he did smile. “Cheers, Jack.”

* * *

He shouldn't have been shocked to see Albert Johnson on his doorstep. Like the crash, and anything with regards to Miss Fisher, there had been signs.

And Jack was supposed to be, first and foremost, a _detective_.

“Miss Fisher says you've got a room to bunk up in.”

Jack shouldn’t have been shocked, and so he let out an aggrieved sigh instead of the dozen or so other reactions he was having to this situation in his head.

“I appreciate this, Inspector,” Bert said to the tight smile Jack pulled as he led him inside. 

“You may as well call me Jack.” 

Bert looked him up and down, with more than a little suspicion. “No, I don’t reckon we’ve got there yet.”

* * *

It was odd passing by the cake-like house on The Esplanade and knowing it was unoccupied by a certain Lady Detective. But it was equally charming to see her swaddled in whatever extravagant garment she had selected for the evening in Doctor Mac’s smaller flat.

It was nearing the end of summer and, when home, Ruth tended to the communal garden between the buildings. She was there now and Jack stopped to help her carry a second basket up two flights of stairs. 

“Saves me a second trip,” she laughed, carrots bouncing in her basket. “And if we get this in quickly enough, Phryne won’t be home in time to help!” 

Jack found her laugh infectious. “Where has she skipped off to? I know for a fact there aren’t any cases engaging enough for her tastes.” He stopped himself from adding the word _legal_ because Ruth knew Miss Fisher as well as Jack did, if not better.

“Mac was called in to assist on something that Phryne found interesting.” Ruth pulled a face that told him she disagreed mightily. 

“Myocardial infarction, likely from _multiple_ lightning strikes! _But_ there were no thunderstorms at the time of death.” Jane leaned in from the doorway. 

“Strange,” Jack conceded with a nod. “Hello, Jane.” 

“Hello, Jack.” Jane’s smile morphed into something a shade embarrassed before she ducked back into the living space. 

“Set the potatoes there, please.” Ruth directed him to the counter. “Do you know how to make a stew?” 

“I could stand to learn,” he said, taking a great breath, “if only to spare you Miss Fisher’s...delicate hand.” Jack rolled his sleeves back. 

When the stove was the only thing left to watch, Jack went to find Jane, sitting in the living space with a book open on her lap. 

“Mac’s been teaching me medical terms since I got back from France.” 

“I see that. So a doctor now, is it?”

“It doesn’t matter how the world falls apart, there’s always a need for doctors.” Jane only looked a little guilty. “Especially with the amount of trouble you two get into.” 

Jack imagined this was something she’d learned in her lessons from a certain doctor, as well. “I like to think I avoid trouble where I can.” 

“So does Miss Fisher.” When Jack lifted a skeptical brow, she added, “She likes to _think so_.”

* * *

Why not Cec or Mr. Butler, or _anyone_ whose criminal leanings he could turn a blind eye to? 

“Inspector Robinson, you _wouldn’t_ ,” Phryne answered when he worked up the nerve to ask (it hadn’t taken long--if there was one thing Jack didn’t lack for, it was nerve, though Miss Fisher tested its limits at times). “Besides, Cec and Mr. Butler have wives. Bert was going to need something outside of Melbourne’s price range if he wanted to live alone. I didn’t want to see him living in a shack on the outskirts of town and being fed from a charity house. Luckily for all of us, you offered.”

“I thought--”

“I _know_ what you thought.” The corners of her lips rose as though she were fighting a smile. “And me an unmarried woman. Why, Jack, that's practically indecent,” she said in that tone that implied she wanted to say much more.

“I’ve thought to accuse you of many things throughout our acquaintanceship.” Jack looked to the sky for solace; an acquired habit. “Decency was not among them.” 

“Acquaintanceship, is that what you’re calling it now, Inspector?” She placed her hands on her hips, but she was grinning openly now. “And what leads you to believe spontaneous cohabitation will curb such charges?” 

“In my experience, the residence of your person has little impact on your actions.” 

“You’re worried about Bert?” She crossed her arms, eyes wrinkled with amusement. “You’d have _me_ in irons by the end of the first week!” 

“I have very little doubt you’ll be able to handle yourself should it come to that, Miss Fisher.” 

She laughed, tossing her trunk into the back of the cab, and despite their familiar teasing, he felt a wash of concern at the sight “You do have somewhere to stay?”

“Mac has graciously offered her rooms.” She snapped the back of the cab shut and turned to look at him from under her lashes. “You understand, Jack? Jane and Ruth need to feel comfortable when they come home. All this upheaval is going to be difficult enough.”

He hadn't even thought... “They _can_ stay through the school year?”

The serious air that gripped her a moment ago was dispelled with a smile. He didn’t know how she did it, only that she was the only woman he had met who could. "Oh believe me, Aunt Prudence and I will sell whatever we own to keep those two in until they're through if that's what it takes.” She cut him off just as he opened his mouth to speak, “It may not take something so drastic. Janey’s up for a scholarship and Ruth wants to get married.”

Jack continued despite her reassurances. “Tell me what I can do.”

"You just be wonderful you, Jack Robinson." She stepped up to him and ran a hand down his arm. Jack felt her fingers grip over the quickened beat at his wrist. “And...maybe let me peek at the files on the Borelli case?"

* * *

“Oh Jack!” Jack and Jane trailed from the living space to the kitchen, where Phryne was unpinning her hat. “Ruth said you made us a stew!” 

“Ruth is being kind.” He bent to let her kiss his cheek and ignored the delighted gasps from all parties present (even the doctor, which at one point may have surprised him--but, after several visits spent talking and drinking late into the night, he knew her to be a closet romantic). “I peeled potatoes. Let me,” he motioned to her coat, a splendid straight thing in dusty blue. 

“Thank you, Jack.” She dropped the garment from her shoulders and into his waiting arms. Beneath was a plain workers dress, a reminder that she’d likely spent most of the day at the kitchens or finding others work with Mrs Collins. 

There were simple moments, outside of her zeal for adventure and their easy dialogue, where she captivated him all over again. 

“Jack?” She sing-songed, tired eyes flitting between the garment and the hanger by the door. “Will you be joining us?” 

Jack draped the coat over the last hanger and went to sit beside Mac. “I wouldn’t want to miss hearing about the victim of a double lightning strike.” 

Miss Fisher’s eyes eased into a familiar lightness, erasing the worries of the day. “Well, Jack, I have a theory…” 

She continued speaking between bites of her meal, Jane chiming in occasionally to ask a question and Ruth to make her objections about work at the table known. To Jack’s left, some of the worry from Mac’s brow disappeared as well.

* * *

In the near year they had lived together, Bert had either significantly cleaned up his act, or he'd gotten far better at hiding his greater discretions. That, and it had never occurred to Jack to ask for rent. Jack would never _bribe_ a man to incite good behavior...but Bert likely didn't know that. 

He could safely call Bert a friend now, if nothing else, and when the man left for his new job and a new flat, Jack found himself in attendance with the small group who helped him move, using the time to discreetly examine the surrounding area. 

It was practically suburban by Jack’s standards and downright posh for Bert. Jack wasn’t sure if the little bit of warmth in his chest was pride or terror. 

“I can't say I'm glad to be rid of him,” Jack admitted to Hugh after dinner that night. Dot and Hugh were busy, now, as a rule of new parenthood, but still tried to spend an evening every few weeks with he or Miss Fisher. It gave them a chance to breathe too, he surmised. “The flat is very quiet without him.” 

“You did live together quite a while. Still, I can't imagine you and Bert had much to talk about.” Dot's attention was clearly torn between the dishes and the now wailing baby by the door until Hugh lifted the child. She watched them for a cautious moment before turning back towards the soapy water. 

Jack took the spot drying where Hugh had been. “He played the wireless absurdly loud.” 

“At least it was only the races.” Dot handed him a dish, laughing. “When I lived with Miss Fisher…” 

And in the background of their conversation, John finally settled into sleep.

* * *

A clamoring rang out across the room as Miss Fisher tapped the side of her glass. “I’d like to raise a glass to my dearest Dot for hosting us this beautiful Christmas evening.” 

“I know it’s not what you’re used to--” 

“Believe me, Dottie, we’ve had worse,” Cec cut her off with a laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

They went around, throwing announcements across the circle at one another and raising their glasses again and again. And there was, Jack thought, quite a lot to celebrate. Bert had found a steady job and would be, as he put it, ‘out of Jack’s hair’ soon. Ruth had met a boy in France who she was quite certain would propose to her within the year. Jane had finally added medicine to her already heavy course load. And Cec and Alice’s baby, of course. 

Jack wound his way through the crowd to refill Phryne’s glass. She was focused, content, on Hugh attempting to pass the bundle of blankets wrapped around Susan’s small body into Dot’s waiting arms. So lost in the scene he became, he almost missed Phryne speaking into her glass beside him. 

“Think they’re ready for that adventure, Jack?” 

“Ready?” Jack took a sip from his own glass. “A little presumptive, aren’t you?” 

“I don’t know about _Mr_ Collins,” Phryne leaned in to whisper, hand draped across his shoulder like it belonged there. “But I haven’t seen Dot so excited at the prospect of something since I taught her how to play snooker.” 

He smiled, refusing to meet what he _knew_ was a triumphant look. “I should have known that was you.” 

“You should have,” she affirmed. “You should _also_ have known never to bet against our Dot.”

* * *

Jack woke to the smell of toast. 

He burrowed into lightly perfumed sheets and tried to convince himself he'd be able to sleep for a little while longer. He reached out and his hand hit cool air and empty space. He rolled his eyes when it registered: _toast_. 

Phryne, for all of her wonderful qualities, was a notoriously early riser on the weekends. 

He found her in the kitchen, gently passing a slightly charred piece of bread from hand to hand and staring down at an open newspaper. 

“Morning, Jack!” She smiled, dropping the toast on a plate and licking her fingertips. “Interesting things in the paper!” 

He bent to place a kiss on the top of her head. “Crime?” 

“Hm.” She made a pleased hum at the back of her throat and practically tore two sheets of the paper away from their brethren before sliding them across the table. “A little more international I'm afraid.” 

Jack felt his brows raise. “Germany?”

Phryne took what looked to be a very decisive bite of toast. “I'm afraid we may have to postpone Ruth’s wedding.”

* * *

”Jane wants finish her studies with Mac.” Phryne told him as he walked her back from the Collins’ over a light dusting of snow. 

“The better hospitals are in Paris now.” 

“But the best _doctor_ is here.” 

“I won't argue that, Miss Fisher.” 

She fell quiet for a moment. Jane and Ruth’s conversation floated back to Jack's ears like a whisper and, behind him, Mac and Bert were arguing over something about Germany. 

Probably sports. 

“What are you going to do with that big flat when Bert leaves, Jack?” 

He thought about any number of sarcastic responses, including how he managed quite well before...but the sun disappeared hours ago, and the sky looked down on them in a beautiful dusty blue, like her jacket. The heels of her shoes hit the snow like she was walking on little puffs of clouds, like she’d never touch the ground. 

A simple moment. 

“If you'll recall, Miss Fisher,” he said, “I made _you_ an offer once.” 

He watched her brow knit, before her entire face eased into a smile. ”Ask me again.”


End file.
